Shout a Hearty "Yes!" to My Generation

shout a hearty "yes!" to drifting harmonies.
we are wearing our suspenders, threaded
tightly through our belt loops. we are sitting
crowded on out couches, watching television.

and the mocking is the offspring, and the
conflict is the waking, and the human element
they once tried to sell us; selfishness. we
are parasites, after all. we are parasites.

growing pregnant in our swelling bellies,
break the news to our overly conservative
grandparents. and they hate and they hate
and they hate. though the fairies of welfare

smile happily at victims, swollen into potential
like over-indulgent children, pitiful in the eyes
of others, strong and beaming in our own. It
is a funny altercation, this life and her neglect.

oh, and aren't we always victims, aren't we
prone to grow dependent, aren't we always
beautiful to someone. because everyone is
beautiful, when I tell myself the truth, every

single person is. there is no escaping it, though
the putrid stench of humanity always grows
nearer. it follows us around like a habitual
codependency, inescapable and abundant.

and if I seem cynical, its because I am cynical.
If I seem jaded, it is because I am jaded. and
if I seem lost, it is because I am lost in some
arbitrary maze of living, where love is the

cheese, and failure is a dead end; where peace
is the prize, and a pulsating charge of death
makes the walls shiver and buzz in hopeful
anticipation of being the victor. now, be death

the victor, i shall bow out generously. I shall
gracefully sit on my ass and consume, counting
down the milliseconds until that glorious zero,
that light at the tunnel's end, that great exhale.

be death seeking me out, he can have me. he can
sink his ancient teeth deep beneath my skin. he
can drink of my weathered soul to his heart's content
he can take me through his filters, and make me

all his own. for we are only waiting, expectantly
for something to fight a revolution for us. and
we are misled, to flee our broken selves. and
we are the chosen ones, the finality of all life.

and in that activation, we are falling. and within
that hopeless falling, we can't help but smile.
for although it hurts like hell, all the cyclical
warring, it at the very least feels like something.



(ed. sarcastically, so as not to alarm the shareholders )